Back Aboard
by CheerfulChemist
Summary: This is a Con Man Story for the upcoming web series from Alan Tudyk and Nathan Fillion. Spectrum is being revived as a mini-series, but the funding is lost and Wray and Jack, with the help of fans and Jack's PA Mickey, must make things happen. Jack makes a very personal sacrifice in the way of a crowd funding perk. The characters of Wray and Jack come from Alan Tudyk.


Back Aboard

"What's the big news, Wray?" Jack asked, getting out of his Tesla in the driveway of Wray's modest house.

"Jack, this is bigger than big, huge, the hugest - I can't even..."

Jack put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "It must be. This is the first time since I've known you that you've had any problem getting words out, a considerable number of words. So take a breath. What's this all about?"

"Spectrum, Jack. Curtis Georgeson is rebuilding the Spectrum. He wants to shoot a mini-series and he wants you - us- to star."

Jack gazed at Wray in confusion. "How can he do that? Fux Network owns the rights."

"Look I don't have the details, Jack, but he got some kind of limited license. And there's more! He wants me to write it. I've already started, but Jack, you have to sign on or the deal falls apart," Wray grabbed Jack's arm, jumping up and down in excitement. "Say you'll sign on!"

Jack ran a hand through his famously fabulous hair. "Wray I'd love to, you know that. Spectrum is number one in my heart. It gave me a career as a leading man. But I've got commitments. I just signed on to shoot _Off the Chart_. I've got P.R. tours for that puppet movie and an animated superhero thing. Get the timing to my agent and we'll see what we can do."

Wray kept jumping. "I'll do that Jack. I know we'll work it out. I can feel it. Now let me show you what I've written."

Jack paged through the script. "This is good Wray, really good. I'm proud of you. I'll lean on my agent. If there's any way we can do this, I'm in."

* * *

Wray paced the floor at two A.M., picked up his phone, put it down and picked it up again Finally he made the call. "Yeah," Jack murmured sleepily looking at the caller I.D. "Wray what the hell?"

"It all fell apart, Jack," Wray sobbed into the phone.

Jack propped himself on one arm, rubbing his eyes. "What fell apart Wray?"

"The financing for Spectrum. Turns out Georgeson's empire is some kind of Ponzi scheme, like Bernie Madoff's. He's going to jail and we're going to hell."

Jack groaned and tried to focus. "There has to be another way Wray. We can figure it out in the morning - later in the morning. I'll let security know to let you on the set. Kay?"

"Okay Jack," Wray agreed grudgingly.

* * *

Wray paced up and down in Jack's trailer. Jack looked up from his desk. "Wray, you're driving me crazy! Mickey is on it. She should be back any minute."

"Wray stopped pacing and dropped on the abbreviated couch against the trailer wall, fingering a dinosaur he pulled out of his pocket."

Mickey pushed open the door of the trailer, strands of sweat dampened hair escaping from the barrette that held it high on her head. "So are they there?" Wray asked anxiously.

"The costumes, memory cards, the part of the ship that's been built, they're all at the Georgeson auction. The license is up for auction too. But there are a lot of people interested, Wray. It's a good thing neither one of you went to the preview. You probably would have been mobbed. Half the people going through had Speckie t-shirts," Mickey reported.

"It might be nice to be mobbed," Wray sighed.

"Not as nice as you think," Jack told him. "Having your ass grabbed that many times, you can end up too sore to appreciate the person you really do want touching it. So when is the stuff going up for sale, Mickey?"

"There wasn't an exact date set. In exchange for a Spectrum script draft the official there speculated that it would probably be a couple of months before all the paperwork and legal protests went through, but all Georgeson's funds are frozen and lawyers don't work for free," Mickey offered. "There's not much he can do. If you guys really want to raise the funds to do this we need to get on the stick. I've started the preliminaries with crowd sourcing but you guys are going to have to get a video filmed and the perks worked out. It's going to be a lot of work, Wray," she warned, "that's mostly you. Jack is filming a lot."

"I'll help as much as I can Wray, I'll fit it in somehow." Jack promised. "And Mickey's a wizard at fund raising. I think she's feeding half the third world. Spectrum means as much to me as it does to you. We can make it happen."

The campaign to revive Spectrum flashed across the web and even the newspapers, with fans holding vigils to track its progress. While perks of t-shirts, posters, photos, and private messages sold out with blinding speed, Wray put out a tweet asking what perk the fans would want the most. Picking through the cleaner ones, Wray announced the most popular request to Jack.

"Wray you've got to be kidding me." Jack groaned. "They can't settle for an autograph?"

"Hey," Wray pointed out, "be thankful our winner wasn't a lock of your hair. You'd be as bald as Patrick Stewart."

Unconsciously brushing back his faultless strands, Jack winced. "Okay," he gave in, "but I'm not giving it away in bulk. Make it a raffle. Five lucky winners, ten at most, with a time limit of thirty seconds."

"Great Jack," Wray agreed. "If that won't put us over the top, nothing will."

An hour before the screening of the trailer of the first new episode of Spectrum in the big hall at Super-Duper Con, the lucky winners, seven women, two men, and an Eimorian hermaphrodite gathered in a curtained off area with a chaperone and four security guards. "Wray, I really hate this," Jack moaned as he hesitantly approached."

"C'mon Jack, It'll be over in five minutes," Wray coaxed, "and then you can join the celebration."

Jack made his way through the folds of fabric to applause and screams. "Ladies, gentlemen, and whatever, Wray announced, holding up a stopwatch. As promised, for a maximum of thirty seconds you get to touch Jack Moore's bum - through his pants. Please be gentle. Remember he'll need it to take the command chair on the helm."

Using all his considerable skills as an actor, Jack pasted a smile on his ruggedly handsome face as Wray carefully timed the turns. The men seemed more careful than the women, who were determined to sear a tactile memory into their brains. Despite himself, Jack gasped at the touch of the Eimorian, whose prosthetic hands, even through the denim of his jeans, felt chillingly creepy. After what seemed an unending run of seconds to Jack," Wray called time, thanked everyone for coming and urged them to take their seats for the show.

Wray looked out from the wings at the stage in front of the huge and exhilarated crowd. "Hey look Jack, they've got a couch for us."

Jack ruefully rubbed the back of his jeans. "Wray, if you don't mind, I think I'll just stand.


End file.
